_Stuart._ “My own: Driven to the verge of desperation by the parasites who cluster about my wealth, I long for nothing but a refuge. This you can give me, and if you cherish one emotion of tenderness for me, you will be in the little morning room at twelve. A.” Address that to Newbank. Now take another sheet. “Reginald: If you have one spark of affection for me, keep me no longer in suspense! I shall be in the little morning room over the supper-room at ten minutes after twelve. Fly then to your loving but unhappy A.” Address that to Van Tromp. Now, Polly, you must deliver those notes in person, get into Miss Wortley’s domino, and be here at that time. Newbank will propose to you, and you must accept him and get rid of him. Then you must do the same to Van Tromp. Understand? _Polly._ Yes, Mr. Stuart. [_Rises with two notes in hand._ _Stuart._ And you mustn’t let them find out their mistake till to-morrow. [_Exits_ POLLY _b. d._ _Fred._ Do you think that’s honourable? _Stuart._ It’s too soon after dinner for me to discuss ethics. But for you it’s the chance of a lifetime. You know what Miss Wortley is to wear. Go and make yourself agreeable to her, and if her mask gives you courage, tell her that you love her. _Fred._ You don’t understand. I’m not afraid to tell her that to her face. It’s not the woman I’m afraid of. If she were poor, I could have said to her as I say to myself, fifty times a day, “I love you.” But I can’t say that to her money. _Stuart._ And so you are going to place your Brunhilde on the top of her gold and then fear to climb the fiery mountain? Why, Fred, tell her that you love her, and leave it for her to decide whether it’s the woman or the wealth you care for. _Fred._ I can’t bear to give her the chance even to think I’m sordid. _Stuart._ Nonsense, my boy! Go and tell Miss Wortley that you love her before it’s too late. Make her the prettiest compliment a man can pay a woman, and if she has the bad taste to think it’s her money and not her beauty and sweetness, you are no worse off. _Fred._ Mr. Stuart, I’ve tried to say it and to write it. I’ve begun sentence after sentence; I’ve torn up letter after letter. It’s no good. _Stuart (wearily)._ I don’t see anything to be done, except to get your proposal made by proxy. (_Stops short in walk._) By Jove, that’s an idea. _Fred._ What? _Stuart (triumphantly)._ I have it. I’ll get into a domino, pass myself off for you, and propose. [_Goes up back._ _Fred (angrily)._ You’ll do nothing of the kind! _Stuart._ Why not? _Fred._ Mr. Stuart, your proposition is simply insulting. A moment since you said that a declaration of love was the greatest compliment a man could pay a woman, and now you would turn it into a joke or trick. Do you think I will allow the woman I love to be so treated?